Death of a Stranger - Anne Perry [64]
“I would like to speak to some of your girls,” she asked.
“They don’t know nothin’,” he said flatly.
“I don’t care about your miserable trade!” She knew her voice was rising but she could not help it. “They may have seen this man in the street. Somebody brought him here. You say he didn’t walk in . . . then who brought him? Haven’t you even wondered who did this to you?”
“Yer bleedin’ right I ’ave!” he spat, his face suddenly losing its pink, innocent look and burning instead like that of a malevolent baby, curiously evil because it was so ludicrous. He suddenly raised his voice. “Ada!” he yelled with startling volume.
There was a slight sound downstairs, but no one appeared.
“Ada!” he screamed.
The door flew open and a fat woman almost his own height burst into the room, her black ringlets clustered around her red face, her eyes blazing with indignation. She looked at him, then at Hester.
“No good,” she said without being asked. “Too thin. Wot yer call me fer, yer daft a’porth? Don’t yer know nothin’? Sorry for ’er, are yer?” She jabbed a short, fat finger toward Hester. “Well, not in this ’ouse, yer great soft ’eap o’ . . .” She stopped, sensing his lack of self-justification. She realized her error and swung around to face Hester. “Well, wot are yer ’ere fer then? Cat got yer tongue?”
Hester pulled out the drawing of Nolan Baltimore and showed it to her.
Ada barely glanced at it. “ ’E’s dead,” she said flatly. “Some ’eap o’ dung left ’ere on our floor, but ’e in’t nuffin’ ter do wi’ us. Never see’d’im afore, an’ no one can prove we ’ave!”
“It’s your word against theirs,” Hester said reasonably.
Ada was hugely practical. She was too much of a survivor to quarrel for the sake of it. “So wot der yer want, then? W’y’d yer care ’oo put’im ’ere?”
“Because I wish to find out who killed him so the police will go away and leave us alone. And I wish to find out who is lending money to women and making them pay it back by going on the streets,” Hester replied. She took a wild chance, feeling her flesh prickle at the risk.
Ada’s black eyes opened even more widely. “Do yer, then? W’y?” Her question was shot out like a missile.
“Because as long as there are police all over the place there’s no trade,” Hester replied. “And people can’t pay their debts. Tempers are getting ugly and more and more women will get hurt.”
Ada was still suspicious. “And since when did women ’oo speak like you care if women like us got trade or not?” she said, her eyes narrow. “Thought you was all fired up ter clean the streets and put decency back inter life.” She said this last with sarcasm like an open razor.
“If you think putting constables on every corner is going to do that, you’re a fool!” Hester retorted. “There’s no ’like me’ and ’like you.’ All kinds of women can find themselves in debt and take to the streets to pay it. They might have to cater to specialist tastes, but they take what they can get. It’s better than being beaten half to death.”
“We don’t do that ter nob’dy,” Ada said indignantly, but beside the self-righteousness there was a ring of honesty in her voice as well, and Hester heard it.
“Do you cater to special tastes?” Hester asked.
“Not wi’ girls wot are ’ere ’cos o’ debts wot we know anythin’ abaht,” Ada replied. “They’re jus’ orn’ry girls wot wants ter make a livin’, an’ they don’ get enough ter pay more’n their way.”
Hester glanced at the room. What Ada said was easy enough to believe, although it was quite possible they had a second establishment, or even a third, which could be different from his. But for all she could tell, no one had seen Nolan Baltimore in the area. If he had been killed in one of Abel Smith’s other houses, were there any, Smith would hardly have had the body dumped here. She was inclined to believe them.
Her